Watching
by kcgal
Summary: They're playing a game that no one else sees, acting to a role that has been designed for them from the begining.


Watching  
by KCgal

Harry Potter sat between his two best friends at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by fawning friends and acquaintances, quite depressed.

Draco Malfoy sat between his two retainers at the Slytherin table, surrounded by fawning housemates and minions, watching him.

The beginning of fifth year had not assuaged Harry's feeling of deep guilt over the death of Cedric, even though he knew, intellectually, that it wasn't really his fault. His intellectual acknowledgement of the fact didn't make any impact on his emotions however, and the result was a feeling of being lost and cloud of depression constantly hovering over him. 

He had become adept in lying over the years. It wasn't part of his nature to do so, but the situations he found himself in meant he had to develop the ability, and develop it he did. The walls and masks that had gone up over the usual protections he held during the summer meant that he very nearly appeared exactly as he had been. Of course, it wouldn't do to see the Boy Who Live, the hope of the wizarding world, depressed and sullen. He wasn't as far along as suicidal, but what he had was bad enough. Public appearance was everything. 

His friends cajoled, and he laughed appreciatively. He smiled at the first years, welcoming them into the fold of the Gryffindor house spirit. He rallied behind the Quiddich team and strived his best. He kept up appearances.

Draco watched as he smiled at Weasly, watched as he passed the roasted pumpkin to Finnigan. Watched as he fumbled with his fork when Cho Chang looked over at him that had nothing to do with the crush the boy had harbored previously.

He watched as Granger turned, saw him staring at them and glared back. He raised an eyebrow, and then lazily returned to eating the soup he'd taken.

Draco couldn't tell you Harry's schedule, couldn't tell you who he talked to more or less, couldn't tell you what his best subjects were or what he had trouble with. He couldn't tell you that, because frankly, he didn't care. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor seemed to feel that Draco was obsessed with Harry, and he really couldn't think why he should be. He was not so focused, nor so shallow, as to revolve his life around the Gryffindor. 

Harry was just there. He was something familiar, because Draco, like Harry, knew there were much worse things in life then each other. When they fought, it was get their minds off those greater fears. The game that they'd set up after initial childish animosity that they'd held in first year had worn off. A game that nobody else seemed to recognize. The two had never spoken, not really, and most likely never would. They had their own expectations to live up to, had their own battles to fight, and they both used each other with an unsaid understanding. 

They both knew that upon leaving Hogwarts, Draco would most likely be drafted into the Death Eaters, whether he liked it or not, and Harry would be propped up to the forefront of the side of light'. This is, assuming the boy hadn't already offed Voldemort in someway or another in the next couple of years. Which may or may not be the better option for all involved.

They both knew that neither was exactly happy with this arrangement, but knew that this was what they were expected to do, and therefore what would be done. It wasn't really even a shared knowledge, or one they recognized in themselves. It wasn't an in-joke or special communication for them. It just was.

Because they were, really, more alike then anyone else they'd come across. A study in opposites that were the same. Maybe, in another life, they could have been friends. They probably would have been very good friends, or even lovers. In another life, they could have been bitter enemies, would have been each other's death. 

In this life, however, they were ambivalent almost to the point of being oblivious. They knew the other existed, and could be trusted enough to be dismissed, taking comfort in that trust.

So Draco Malfoy, termed the Prince of Darkness by those with and against him, sat calmly on the wooden bench of a Hogwarts dinner table and watched his supposed Arch-Nemisis, his own masks and walls firmly enforced as he sneered at Zabini for making a moronic comment.

And across the way, Harry Potter, the Child of Light as it were, sat on another wooden bench listening to the argument that had broken out between Hermione and Ron over another obscure comment and tried not to mash his dinner into a pulp, smiling all the while. 

Draco watched with the mild curiosity of the bored.

And perhaps Harry watched back.

~Owari~

**Notes: This is a very stupid, strange fic(let?). I was just reading one of those Draco's obsessed with Harry' fics, and this came to mind. Or something like this. Honestly, it just came out as I typed. I had no idea what I was saying till I typed it. It's not that I don't like those obsession fics, they're quite cool often. Oh well. I dunno. I hope someone likes it. Maybe I should just aim for someone understanding it. Ug.**


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